


Thomas Jefferson and Alexander Hamilton: A Tale of Hate, Love, and New Beginnings

by Chekovskycookie



Category: Thomas Jefferson/Alexander Hamilton
Genre: Alexander Hamilton/Thomas Jefferson - Freeform, Jamilton - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2015-01-25
Packaged: 2018-01-12 17:11:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1193142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chekovskycookie/pseuds/Chekovskycookie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two advisers to the first president,Alexander Hamilton and Thomas Jefferson, find themselves falling inexplicably and irrationally in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Introductions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to let you guys know that while I've done some research to make this fic as believable as possible, I took a lot of liberties with the timing of the events, age of the characters, etc.

Alex burst into the room, panting.  
“You’re late.”  
He looked up to see two men staring at him. One, of course, was George Washington, the president, and more importantly, one of his best friends. Hamilton raised his head to look at the president, but hesitated. Had he let his friend down by being late? Thankfully, Washington’s expression wasn’t one of anger and disappointment. Rather, he looked sort of amused.  
The other man was definitely not amused in the slightest. Tall, stately, and with a shock of ginger hair, his blue-gray eyes were staring at Alex as if he was a bug that had wandered into his food. Alex made a mental note to watch out for him. He had never really trusted people, even the ones closest to him, and this man seemed like someone he did not want to get involved with.  
“Now, now, Thomas, it’s not such a big deal,” chuckled the president, striding towards the slightly off-put Hamilton. The other man stood up stiffly and followed a couple paces behind.  
“Now, introductions. Thomas, I would like you to meet the Secretary of the Treasury and my close friend, Alexander Hamilton. Alex, this is the Secretary of State, Thomas Jefferson.”  
“Pleasure,” said Hamilton, reaching his hand towards the stranger. However, his efforts of politeness only resulted in a sullen glare from the man. Alex quickly withdrew his hand, feeling hurt. Well, if that’s how you’re going to play it, he thought to himself, quickly replacing the abashed look on his face with a scowl to match the stranger’s.  
“Well, look at the time,” said the president, interrupting the tense silence that had settled between the two men. “I have a appointment I must attend to. But you two stay here and get acquainted.” And with that he strode out of the room, slamming the oak doors behind him.  
The two men observed one another, each quietly pondering their moves. Finally, Thomas decided to speak.  
“Just my luck. A Federalist. This is going to be a long term.” He walked towards the door. As he reached for the handle he paused, turning to give Hamilton a long, cold stare. “Try not to ruin the economy between now and breakfast. The president and I have enough on our plates without having to clean up your messes.”  
And with that, Alex was alone.  
He didn’t know how he was supposed to feel. Angry? Embarrassed? Instead, he felt an odd sense of excitement. It was like Mr. Jefferson had thrown down the gauntlet. He knew that they were both joined by one goal: making the president, and the country, happy. No, not only happy. Happy because of their individual suggestions. They both wanted to see the country run on their terms. Hamilton stood up a little straighter. He was going to reach his goal, and if he had to stomp out a few tall, blue-eyed, carrot-haired bugs, so be it.

 

“Hamilton!”  
The president’s voice carried down the long halls of the capital building. A few moments later, he saw Hamilton’s red, out of breath face peeking into the doorframe. The president hardly ever yelled, so he knew this was urgent.  
He felt Jefferson’s cold eyes bore into his skull before he even looked up. That blasted man was standing as straight up as humanely possible, as if he was trying to show Hamilton how a respectable, efficient presidential advisor should be. Hamilton caught his breath and straightened out, trying to match the other man’s rigid posture.  
It was a far cry. Where Jefferson was tall, stately, and regal, Hamilton was more like a chubby little boy. While Thomas’s chiseled face and thin stature made him look like a prince, Alex, with his pink cheeks and round face looked like a seven-year-old pretending to play soldier, waiting for his superior’s words.  
And they came. Two of them.  
“National bank.”  
Thomas and Alex stole brief glances at each other. Discussing this topic was like being stranded on a rock in the middle of the ocean, surrounded by sharks. One slip and you get eaten.  
The president didn’t look too pleased at having to discuss it either. Hamilton remembered when he had proposed this idea to him a couple months prior. As was protocol, the president immediately ran it by Thomas. The results were disastrous. A couple days later, Alex received a scathing letter that all but called him a traitor to his country. Apparently the president did to, because for three weeks none of them mentioned “national” or “bank” in the same sentence.  
Before either man could open his mouth, Washington went on. “I know that this is a touchy topic, and that you both have your firm views on it. However, we need to think about what is best for our country. I am going to leave this room. You two are not to do so until you’ve reached a decision.” Before Alex could fully comprehend the situation, he heard the door close and the lock click.  
Hamilton took a deep breath and turned to face Thomas. The man’s arms were crossed; his legs shoulder width apart, the gray storm in his eyes boiling over. Alex sighed. He had never met a more stubborn person. Every suggestion that strayed even a hair’s length away from his train of thought was met with snark-coated remarks all but dripping with cruelty and sarcasm. He had opposed every single of Hamilton’s ideas, from an industrial economy to that blasted bank. Alex just couldn’t understand why the man hated him so much.  
Goddamn, those eyes were intimidating.  
“Um, well…” stuttered Alex, reaching into his briefcase. “I-I took the liberty of writing down the pros and cons, I thought…” he trailed off, looking up at Jefferson, who had snatched the papers off the table and was examining them. Alex felt a ray of hope growing in his stomach. Maybe, just maybe, they were getting somewhere…  
And then Thomas threw the papers on the floor.  
He stared at Hamilton with a twisted humor in his eyes, walking towards him, treading on the graphs and charts Hamilton took so long to copy. “How did-“ he ground his heel into a painstakingly colored diagram “Such an ignorant-“ another sharp jab with his foot “Idiotic Federalist dare call himself the president’s advisor. This conversation is clearly over. I’m telling the president we agreed on my decision.” He walked to the door, trying the knob.  
Hamilton felt tears in his eyes. This was why. This was why people were not to be trusted. They were always looking for the best ways, the most painful ways, to break you, to hurt you. He had let this man trod all over him for the past several months; abuse him, put him down, treat him like less than the ground beneath his feet.  
No.  
No more.  
He walked over to where Thomas was still wrestling with the unyielding doorknob. Jefferson turned towards him, and Hamilton grabbed him by the collar. He was quite shorter than him, so he had to pull Thomas down to get him face-to-face.  
He looked into those eyes that chiseled face, and felt that he could punch that man into the next world.  
“Listen here,” he managed through gritted teeth, “I realize that we are from different parties. That we have different opinions. But I have tried for two months to be cooperative, to see both sides, to work out things, and you have done nothing but call me a blistering idiot. Why? WHY?” he was practically yelling now, the tears leaking over, inches away from Jefferson’s appalled face. “Why do you hate me so?!”  
He let go of Thomas’s collar and took a step back. He was expecting to see anger, hatred in the face of his opponent. Instead, the man laughed, a deep, baritone sound.  
“So, the lamb yells at the lion. I’ll tell you why I think so lowly of you, Alexander. I have wanted this job for so long.” He was approaching Hamilton now, taking deep, menacing steps. Hamilton stumbled back. “So long. My father wanted me to work on the fields with him, to be a farmer. I left school when I was 14 to help him. Do you know how much I have fought for this? How I have struggled?” He took a big step, getting right up in Alex’s face. “I will not let some fool get in my way.”  
Alex took another step back, but instead of touching the ground, he managed to slip on the papers Jefferson had thrown on the floor. He fell backwards, his head barely hitting the wall. He felt his foot snag on something, and looked up to see Thomas falling on top of him. He braced himself for impact, but luckily, Thomas managed to put out his hands on either side of Hamilton, stopping the fall.  
They were lying on the ground, nose to nose, looking at each other, panting. Hamilton tried to look away, but it couldn’t seem to break eye contact with those steel eyes. He felt the other man’s breath on his lips. They were so close…  
And then the door opened.  
And there stood the president.


	2. Chapter 2

They both scrambled up awkwardly off of the floor. Alex looked at the floor, his cheeks burning, feeling the stare of the president on his forehead. He snuck a quick look at Jefferson, who had developed a sudden interest in the tapestry hanging to their right. Hamilton could tell that the man was trying to act nonchalant, but it was hard not to notice the scarlet color creeping up his cheekbones. With his hands clasped in front of him and his ginger hair mussed, he looked the most vulnerable Hamilton had ever seen him.  
Even though he was focused intently on the floor, Alex could feel the president draw breath to speak. But before the man could say even a word, Jefferson interrupted.  
“Mr. President!” he started in a high, strangled voice. “Sorry you had to see that. Err, what I mean is, we tripped. Alex fell first and then I, uh, tripped on top of him. It wasn’t…we weren’t¬¬¬¬¬¬…”  
“Oh! Well, I’m glad I’m not interrupting something. I just came to check that you two weren’t ripping each other to shreds,” he chuckled. “So, have you come to a decision?”  
“Well, um, you see, we were still…deciding,” stammered Jefferson, trying extremely hard not to look at Hamilton.   
“Yes,” chimed in Alex, trying to help the other man out. “We were, uh, making a list. Of the pros and cons.”  
“Well then, I’ll leave you to it.” And the great man clapped his hands and walked out.

 

They both stood awkwardly, each gazing around the room in an attempt to avoid looking at each other. Jefferson bent down and picked up Hamilton’s graphs.   
“Sorry about these,” he offered gruffly. “I guess I overreacted a little.” He held the crumpled papers out to Hamilton, staring intently at the floor.  
He took the papers and smoothed them out on a nearby table.   
“Anyway,” Jefferson continued, trying to seem as though nothing had happened, although his cheeks were still burning. “As I was saying about the bank.”  
And that was when Hamilton noticed it. A piece of rubble caught in Thomas’s hair.  
He tried to pay attention as Jefferson listed the cons of the bank, but his eye kept on straying back to the rubble. Little things like that were Hamilton’s peeves. As a schoolboy, his pencils would always be sharpened to the same length, lined up like soldiers on his desk, his books perfectly aligned and facing the same direction. Even now, his office was spotless, with all papers neatly filed away in drawers, and he was always ironing his suit, starching the collar and polishing his shoes.  
The thing that bothered him the most was that with one flick of his wrist, order would be restored and they could get work done. But as long as that white spot resided in Jefferson’s hair, Hamilton would not be able to function.  
He couldn’t take it any more.  
He reached his hand up to Thomas’s head, and brushed off the rubble.  
Jefferson stopped talking.  
Hamilton was not prepared for the look Thomas gave him. He instantly looked down, but could still feel the gaze drilling into the top of his head.  
“What do you think you’re playing at?” The contempt in his voice chilled the room.  
“I…nothing. There was just a piece of drywall…I just flicked it off. And what do you mean?”  
“You tripped me on purpose, didn’t you? So I would fall on top. And now you’re touching me? Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”  
“No, Thomas, what are you thinking? That was an accident! And there really was some rubble.”  
“Why are you calling me Thomas? You’ve never called me Thomas before.” Alex felt like a criminal before the man’s accusations. But he held his ground. He hadn’t done anything wrong. And even though it felt like his head weighed a thousand pounds, he lifted his line of sight into Jefferson’s.  
“You called me Alex earlier,” he said, trying to match his own tone to Thomas’s.  
“That was…a mistake,” hesitated Jefferson.   
“So falling on top of me, was that also a mistake? Or was it?” For the first time in forever, Alex was the one calling the shots. He was tired of cowering under this man, tired of having to always play the weaker one. And it felt good. He stood up a little straighter.  
“What are you suggesting?”  
“Oh, you know exactly what I’m suggesting, Thomas.   
“Don’t even try. Do you have any idea how pathetic you look right now? It’s like a kitten trying to roar.”   
Hamilton could see Jefferson getting red and splotchy around the neck. He felt the heat creep up his own. He knew that two fights in one day, no, in one meeting was extremely unprofessional, but he couldn’t help it. It was like that man was begging to be yelled at.  
“I may be pathetic, but at least I’m not an obnoxious brat!” Hamilton was hysteric now, screeching at the top of his lungs. “You always think you’re better than everyone. Would it kill you to listen to someone else’s opinion for once?”  
Before the Jefferson could respond, the door flew open for the second time that day.

“I heard screaming,” panted the president. “I tried to get here as fast as I could.”  
Jefferson ignored the president’s unasked question, his eyes still focused on Hamilton. “I will not be subjected to this anymore,” he said coldly, before storming out of the ajar door and leaving the president and the secretary of treasury standing in his wake.

 

 

The president did not look happy.  
Which meant he was furious.

Even in the worst crisis, George Washington always gave off an air of calm, his mouth always twitching with the ghost of a smile, his eyes twinkling. But as he face Jefferson and Hamilton, his face was set in stone.  
“I am done,” he said, pacing in front of the two men. “I am done. Done with your bickering, with your arguing, with your malice towards one another. I thought that having two advisors from different parties would help me get two separate views, but so far all it has done is cause me extra stress. Can you two even be alone without going at each others’ throats?” He sighed, bending his head down, seemingly deep in thought. When he finally lifted it, he seemed resolved about something, but grim.   
“I like you two. You’re both smart and motivated politicians. But if this doesn’t work out, there are many other talented young men ready to take your places. I will give you two one final chance. One final chance to resolve the issue of the bank, but most importantly, the issues between yourselves.” He looked over the two men, who were hanging their heads down in shame. They both knew they had gone too far. Their respect for the president was as potent as their hatred at one another, and this was the last thing either of them had wanted to happen.  
Hamilton snuck a look at Thomas and tried to get into the right mindset. The man wasn’t so bad, really, if you overlooked his stubbornness, haughtiness, and if you managed to avoid his sharp tongue. Although he admitted it grudgingly, Jefferson was one of the smartest men he had ever met. He always had a way of looking past the simple solution, to making sure his plan of attack was leakproof. If they could just avoid fighting for an hour or so…  
“Now, before you start, I want you two to apologize.” Hamilton could see Thomas jerk his head up. The president gave him a look. “You are to apologize and to shake hands.”  
Trying to take the first step toward fixing their relationship, Alex stuck out his hand. With a disdainful look, Thomas took it and gave the tiniest of shakes. Both their hands dropped to their sides.  
The president left, leaving the two standing stiffly. Alex cleared his throat, pulling out the papers he had earlier, which were now crumpled and dirty.  
“As I was saying,” he started out meekly, “I took the liberty of listing out the pros and cons.” He handed the paper to Jefferson and clasped his hands in front of him, watching as the man examined his papers, hoping he didn’t throw them on the ground again. When Thomas finally set the papers down, Alex let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding.   
“This is a good start,” began Jefferson in a tone that took Hamilton aback almost as much as his yelling. His voice was gentle, friendly even. There might have even been a hint of respect. He really was trying to make this work. “But I think you’re missing some points.” He took out a piece of paper and Hamilton inched closer, curious.  
The next hour was spent deep in discussions and writing. Alex felt like he was working with a completely different person. This new human actually listened to his ideas, treated him like an equal. They developed a system of writing down their arguments before reading them out loud to the other, which would lead to a quiet debate. Once or twice, Alex actually felt like he was enjoying himself.  
Thomas seemed to be enjoying himself, too. A couple of times Alex lifted his head from his paper to see the man smiling at him. His smile made Alex question whether Thomas had really yelled at him, for it seemed like no one who had that kind of smile could ever do harm to anybody. However, as soon as Alex would catch his eye, the smile would fade away and Thomas would look down, as if embarrassed. Which, of course, also caused Alex to make eye contact with the floor.  
By the end of the afternoon, they had reached an agreement. They brought down their plans for a restricted bank down to the president’ room, and knocked on the mahogany door.   
The president opened the door, looking flushed. Hamilton thought he saw a slight flicker of annoyance cross his face, but when he saw the two men and the stack of paper, his face lit up.  
“Ah, excellent! I see you’ve made progress. I knew you too could work it out. Let me just put that on my desk, I’m a bit busy at the moment.”  
Over Washington’s shoulder Alex spied Von Stuben, Washington’s close friend, lounging on the couch. Hamilton had seen him a couple of times before. Although he had never had the best impression of him, he knew without him, the soldiers at Valley Forge would have perished. The man had always been clean shaven and crisply dressed the other times they had met, but now his red face had a slight stubble, and his coat was completely off, hanging on the chair next to the door. His hair was mussed and the top two button of his shirt were unbuttoned, revealing a couple wisps of curly chestnut hair. Hamilton did a little wave and Von Stuben returned the gesture.  
“Well, Friedrich and I will finish up our business, and then I’ll review this. I’m sure it’s excellent,” said the president, closing up the door. “Take the rest of the day off.” And with that the door shut.   
Hamilton took a step backward, and adeptly managed to trip over the feet of Jefferson, who was standing right behind him. He pitched to the side, but before he could fall, he felt the other man’s hands clutch his arms. Jefferson pulled him up and turned him around, so they were facing each other. Hamilton never realized how much taller the other man was until now, when they were standing right next to each other. The top of his head barely reached Thomas’s nose, and Alex had to look up to meet the gaze of those stormy blue eyes.  
“No more falling for you today,” chuckled Jefferson. Alex joined in. He was surprised at how easily they were talking to each other. He had never thought that an hour of being kind towards one another could make so much difference.   
“Listen, um, Alex…Can I call you Alex?” said Thomas, interrupting Alex’s thoughts.  
“Of course,” he responded, surprised but not put off.  
“Okay, anyway, Alex,” Thomas chuckled again, but it sounded strained. The man looked so vulnerable when he was nervous, and Alex could tell he was. “I want to apologize for how I acted today. It was rude, and I swear to you that I’m not like that usually. I guess I always thought of you as a little unprofessional and dim, but now I know you’re not.” He was talking faster and faster by the word, and the familiar blush started to make its way up his neck. “What I’m trying to say is that I really enjoyed working with you today. And I’m sorry for how I acted before. And I know that the things I said won’t be easy to forget, but I want you to know that I didn’t mean anything. So,” he took a deep breath and held out his hand. “Do you forgive me?”  
Hamilton took a deep breath as well. The man had been nothing but mean and spiteful since they had arrived. But just one look into those eyes and he could tell.  
“Yes,” he said, taking the man’s hand. It was warm, but not in the unpleasant clammy way. It seemed like their hands were joined for an eternity until Hamilton dropped his to his side.   
Jefferson checked his pocket watch. “Well, I have to go. My sister decided to visit today,” he explained, rolling his eyes. Hamilton snickered. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”  
“Tomorrow,” agreed Alex. As they strode their separate ways, each man had a smile playing on his lips.  
Hamilton awoke the next morning feeling noticibly lighter. The usual weight in his chest formed by the fear of Thomas was lifted. He dressed slowly, the anticipation building up. What if yesterday had been simply inspired by a rare burst of kindness? He felt the weight slowly sit back down on his chest as he began to grow nervous.  
He walked slowly down the long halls of Congress. 

 

Alex didn’t feel like going to his office. Going into the office meant the day of work had officially begun, and he didn’t feel like putting his nose to the grindstone just yet. Instead, he meandered meaninglessly into the endless rooms, not knowing what he was looking for until he stumbled upon Thomas and the president chatting among the empty pews of Congress’ meeting room.   
Thomas’s eyes met his own, and Alex was lost.  
How had he never noticed how Thomas’s eyes danced with mirth when he was amused? Or how his eyebrows knitted together? Or those two moles dotting his left cheek? Or the way the corner of his mouth twitched upward, like he had to remind himself not to smile. His feauteres seemed to all compliment each other beautifully, regally. They looked like they were there not only to be admired, but to make a statement.   
Only then did he break out of his trance to notice that Thomas’s face mirrored his own.  
The president caughed, causing both men to look up, blushing. The president gave them an odd stare, but Alex thought he saw a glimmer cross his gaze.

“Well,” he started, clapping his hands. “I must be going. Business to finish, all that. I quite enjoyed out chat, Thomas,” he said with a quick nod towards their direction.  
Then he was gone.  
“Always leaving at the strangest times, isn’t he,” offered Alex, looking back towards Jefferson, trying not to betray the feeling he had just had. Trying not to betray the way looking at Jefferson felt like someone had suddenly pumped his rib cage full of air. He was surprised to see the other man intently studying the wood of the pew next to him, his face scarlet.  
“Yes…strange,” he murmured, still not facing Alex. “I must be going too. Work to do.”

Hamilton was alone.  
He sat down on the ground, leaning his back against the edge of the pew, trying to organize his thoughts. What had just happened? He felt like when he had looked at Thomas, his heart had fluttered, his brain turned off, his gut jumped. It was like he wanted nothing else but to be alone with the man, talk to him, laugh with him, make his eyes glimmer and his mouth turn into a smile. A smile for Alex. 

 

On the other side of the building, Thomas gripped the edges of his desk, shaken, asking the same questions as the trembling Hamilton in the empty conference room. He wanted to simply brush it off, claim it was those beans at dinner or that extra beer. But he knew it wasn’t. In fact, he knew exactly what had come over him as he looked at Hamilton in that room. And if it was that, thought Thomas to himself, inhaling and gripping the edges of the desk even harder, how was he supposed to go on living as if everything was normal?

They both had an important state dinner to attend that night. Hamilton circled the grand table, looking for the crad with his name, feeling a bit overdressed with his new suit. As he sat down, he couldn’t help but stretching his neck, trying to get a good look at the people. Well, one particular person.   
“Good evening, Alexander.”  
He jumped, not expecting the voice coming from his right, not knowing how sensual his name could sound, especially when uttered by the person sitting next to him.   
“Yes, lovely evening, isn’t it?” he murmured, forcing himself to look into the man’s eyes.   
It looked like Jefferson was about to say something, but was interrupted by Washington’s speech. Hamilton let the sound mull over him as he looked at his china plate, his stomach grumbling, trying to ignore the vibes coming from his right. Finally, the president sat down and the food was served. Hamilton was meticously separating the fowl from the potatoes from the gravy, something he did at every meal.   
“This chicken is delisious,” he heard that unmistakable voice say.  
“Bit undercooked, if you ask me,” responded Hamilton, inwardly chastizising his awkwardness.  
“Oh? How so?”  
“Well, the middle is a bit pink, but I’m sure it’s just me. I’m always a bit squeamish about meat. It has to be extremely well done. Drove my mother mad.”  
“That’s odd. In my family, I was always the one complaining about how dry the meat was.”  
Their conversation moved along like a train on a well-oiled track, moving from chicken to their hobbies to their childhoods. The chicken in question sat untouched on both their plates.


	3. Chapter 3

He couldn’t stop staring at his hand.  
He knew he had work to finish, stacks and stacks of it, work that was for the greater good of their country and their freedom. But somehow, Alex’s hand seems more important, the way the knuckles moved as he drummed his fingers on the desk, the stretching of bones and joints. It was so small, so pale in contrast of his own tanned, calloused palms and fingers. Was it as smooth as it looked? He wanted to pick it up, to run his thumb over the pads of the fingers, to trace the carved line of the palm.  
The hand pulled away abruptly, and he only then did Thomas realize that the uniform scratching of Alex’s quill had ceased. He looked up to find the other man looking at him, trying not too smile and failing epically.  
They’d moved into one office a couple of weeks ago, and Thomas couldn’t stop making excuses. He told the president it was to save space, he told himself it was because it would be nice to be able to have someone to critique his work. It wasn’t at all because of the way Alex’s eyebrows almost met in the middle when he was deep in thought, or how the tips of his ears turned red when he was frustrated. But sometimes when he was staring off into space, and Alex held his fingers up close to his face and snapped so crisply that Thomas couldn’t help but jump in surprise as he flinched out of his trance, and when Alex started to laugh his deep baritone laugh, and when those brown, brown eyes met his own, all his excuses melted away.  
And it was during one of those moments, when Alex was almost falling out of his chair in mirth and Thomas was trying his best to regain his composure and dignity that the president called him to his office. 

“France? Now?”  
Washington looked at the floor. “Look, Thomas, I know that you just started as Secretary of State a couple months ago, and that there’s a lot of work to be done, but as you were the Minister of France for some time, and I think you’d be the best man for the job.”  
“Is there not a new minister?”  
The president pushed his fingers through his hair. “Not yet.”  
Thomas tried again. “I can’t just leave. I have a major position! The government needs me, the people need me…” Alex needs me.  
At least he hoped.  
“The government needs you in France, Thomas. And it’s just for four months. It’s not like we’re exiling you.”  
“But-“  
“Mr. Jefferson,” finished the president, the finality and authority wafting off of him in fumes, and Thomas knew it was over.  
He let out a deep breath. “When do I leave?”  
“A week.”

He moped back to his office to find Alex waiting for him, drumming his fingers against the smooth wood of the desk expectantly.  
“How’d it go?”  
Thomas hesitated. If he told Alex and he reacted like Thomas hoped he would, like the separation would be just as hard for him as it would be for Thomas, it would do nothing but extend the pain. But if he told him and Alex brushed it off, if he did nothing but tell him to have a good trip before returning to his work…  
No. Thomas had to believe that their (relationship? friendship? He wasn’t sure) meant the same to Alex as it did to him.  
He couldn’t tell him. Not yet.  
Thomas tried his best to smile. “Fine. Just some paperwork that needed signing.”

7 days later, Jefferson had yet to tell Hamilton he was leaving. He had tried, rehearsing it in his room, plotting out the words, but when he saw Alex, and the way he was always so excited to see Thomas, he just couldn’t bring himself to kill that smile.  
But he was going today, and he didn’t know what he would do with himself if he left without saying goodbye.  
Thomas walked up to the door of their shared office, then stopped and peeped through, only to see Alex with his focused intently on his work, his ponytail flopping around his shoulders. Thomas hesitated, but seeing that his ship left in 3 hours, steeled himself and walked in.  
“Alex.”  
Alex put down his work and looked at him, reclining back in his chair.  
“The president has decided that, um, that…  
He paused. He couldn’t talk to Alex like this, like he was just another politician, another bureaucrat wrapped up in his own world. He decided to just be out with it.  
“I’m being sent to France. For four months.” He searched for something else to say, but there was nothing.  
Alex rose. As he came closer, Thomas scoured his expression for a sign, a flicker, of what he was feeling. But his mouth remained set and hard, his eyes impassive. They were standing so close that he could feel Alex’s breath against his collarbone.  
Thomas looked down to see that their hands were so close that only a slight sliver of space kept their pinkies from touching. He thought back to that day, when he was staring at his hand, how much he wanted to feel the smoothness of his skin. And maybe it was the fact that he wouldn’t see this man for the next four months. And maybe it was something else. But whatever it was, the next moment Thomas had both of Alex’s hands enveloped lightly in his grasp.  
It was everything he thought it would be. Alex’s hands were something delicate and fragile and so, so warm. Like a baby animal, trembling in the palm of his hand. He felt like everything he had done in his term so far, all his accomplishments paled to this moment. He felt like he never wanted to let go.  
Thomas looked up to find Alex staring hard at the floor, his ears on fire, the blush swarming up his face and neck. He could feel him shaking oh so slightly, but his hands held on tightly to Thomas’s, as if he was afraid of what would happen when they let go. And in that moment, Thomas wanted nothing more to look into those brown eyes, to tell him everything would be fine.  
“Alex” he breathed softly, and Alex looked up, and something in Thomas melted, and he felt like those eyes were his whole world.  
“I don’t want you to leave,” Alex mumbled, back to staring at their hands, still clasped at their waists.  
Thomas couldn’t take it. He felt something pricking at his eyes, but he blinked fiercely, because the last thing he was going to do was break down and cry.  
“Me neither.”  
Alex looked up at him and almost couldn’t recognize the man who a couple months ago had been his most hated rival, the man who now couldn’t meet his gaze, abashed in his vulnerability and sadness, the man who was gripping Alex’s hands like he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving him, even for 4 months, and Alex found he was holding his hands with the same intensity.  
And then a little red hair shook loose from Thomas’s ponytail and fell next to his chin, and before he could realize what he was doing Alex’s hand had let go of Jefferson’s to brush it back behind his ear.  
Jefferson looked up, and his eyes met Hamilton’s, and all they could do was look at each other, trying to soak up every last detail.  
“When are you leaving?” Alex managed to croak out.  
“In about three hours.”  
Alex nodded as if it was normal for Thomas to tell him he was disappearing for four months mere hours before he left, the words traveling over his head. He still couldn’t believe this was happening.  
“When did you find out you were leaving?”  
“A week ago.”  
Alex leapt back, and Thomas’s hands dropped to his sides. “What?! You bastard! And you’re only just telling me now?” He tried to be angry, but all he wanted to do was Thomas as close to him as possible.  
Thomas wasn’t listening. He ran his fingers over the palm of his hand in shock, trying to organize his feelings. He had been telling himself that his relationship with Alex was just a friendship, nothing more, just a very close, very platonic relationship. But he knew that it was something more. After all, friends didn’t spend their every spare moment thinking about the other person, his eyes, his hair, the way he left the top of his shirts unbuttoned to reveal just a trace of his collarbone. He knew that friends didn’t feel like every touch between them was pure electricity. He knew friends didn’t feel like they were leaving a part of themselves behind when they were separated from the other person.  
He knew they were more than friends, and he was terrified: what next?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys,  
> I know I haven't been writing a lot lately, which is totally unfair to all of you, so I decided to try to write smaller chapters, but more often. This chapter is on the shorter side, but I hope to release another big one in the next couple of weeks.

Dear Alex,  
How are things on your end? I hope everything is running smoothly, but without me there I doubt it.   
France is…dull. Yesterday we had dinner with the minister of foreign affairs, who is about as interesting as his title. We had dinner in courses, which is ridiculous, since if they serve you something completely inedible, like octopus, you can’t do anything about it but sit and move the food around with your fork. I got quiet a few dirty looks from the hostess, but I’m not putting anything with tentacles into my mouth.  
Main course was coq a vin. At this point, all the French had given up trying to speak English and were just babbling amongst themselves. I tried to pick up a few words at first, but soon decided it wasn’t worth the trouble. The chicken was blushing in the center, so maybe it was good you weren't there; I know how picky you are about your meat. Anyway, long story short, my evening was spent sitting alone amongst a posse of snooty bureaucrats.   
It’s not much better during the day. I’m trying to open up the trade network, which is hard enough, but it doesn’t help that the entire cabinet hates me. I don’t know why, but every time I walk into the room it goes silent. They always speak in rapid fire French when I’m around, even though they know how rubbish I am at French. I was trying to talk to the minister to Britain, and I asked him to speak English, but he just frowned and shook his head, which is nonsense since he’s the bloody minister to Britain.  
I can understand them, though. Tensions are growing. The economy is bad and getting worse, and it doesn’t help that Louis is just whooping it up in Versaille instead of trying to get things done. I think they blame us, for some reason. They think our Revolution is what’s getting everyone riled up. But honestly, I think it would be great if someone could just hurry up and establish a republic here.   
I’m so lonely, Alex. Sometimes I’ll be sitting in my office and I’ll look up and you won’t be there. God, I don’t think I’ve laughed at all since I got here. Only three more months of this dreariness.   
Miss you,  
Thomas

P.S: If you think you’re going to be able to push the National Bank through while I’m gone, think again. I have a regular correspondence with the president.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Dear Thomas,  
I hope you are well. I have a nasty cold so maybe it’s a good thing that you aren’t spending six hours a day cramped in the same room as me. I may or may not have just sprayed your side of the room with snot.  
Although I miss you something awful, there’s a bright side to this whole thing: I’ve gotten a whole lot of work done on the bank without your stubborn presence slowing everything down. Remember when you hid my notes and how I panicked and almost cried? I do.  
Things have been going pretty slowly these past couple of weeks. Von Steuben went back to Europe, and Washington’s been kind of listless now that he’s gone. It’s been hard for me to get work done as well. The office just feels too big with you away.  
Both the president and I felt like we needed a pick-me-up, so yesterday we had a big dinner for some of the officers of the war. It was going all right, a lot of small talk and meeting people, until this chap walked in. Aaron Burr. Do you know him? Black hair, red face, a bit of a receding hairline. Well, I figured it was my job to talk to him a little, so I went up and introduced myself. Big mistake. He spoke to me like I was an imbecile, and kept on looking around with his nose in the air while I was talking to him, like I wasn’t worthy of his attention. As soon as he spotted the president, he strode off to meet him, right when I was in the middle of a sentence! And he stayed glued to the president’s side for the rest of the night. I’m pretty sure I saw Washington shoot me a couple of glares for help, but I didn’t dare approach Burr again. He kind of reminded me of, well, of you, the first time we met. Maybe he’ll get better. You sure did.  
You know that one cafe on the corner with the excellent sandwiches and chips that we went that day we decided to skip work? I decided to go there for lunch today, and I got that chipped beef sandwich you were so fond of. I ordered it with Worcestershire sauce, just how you like it, but it didn’t taste the same.  
Yours,  
Alexander


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! This chapter is split into an Alex perspective and a Thomas perspective. The Alex perspective is kind of dreary and talks about his childhood and his dad (I did research for this one. Hamilton really did have and unhappy childhood), but the Thomas part is hopefully a bit more upbeat.  
> I promise they'll get back together in the next chapter!

There was one month left until Thomas returned, and Alex was having a hard time restraining himself from doing nothing but staring at the clock, counting down the time hour by hour until his friend came back. He looked back at the paper he was reading, something about economic policies and Britain, but the words seemed to disappear from his mind as soon as he’d read them, and his eyes kept on wandering to Jefferson’s empty desk, so he decided that it was pointless, put the paper down, and leaned back on his chair, gazing at the empty space above Thomas’s desk.  
His desk was strewn with quills, ink pots, and little scraps of paper. Wax stained all over the smooth surface, but as much as Hamilton itched to put everything in its place, he liked the way the clutter gave the impression that Thomas had just stepped out for a minute to get a signature on one of his documents or to ask the president a question. He had, however, broken down two weeks after Jefferson left and dusted the desk within an inch of its life. Maybe it was because the dust bothered him. Maybe he just couldn’t stand the way it made the desk look cold and forgotten.  
The clock struck 12, which Hamilton deemed an acceptable hour for a lunch break, so he grabbed his coat and headed outside. The sandwich shop he and Thomas had visited so many times was only about a block from the workplace, but he had given up on the sandwich shop after he had wandered in and, while ordering his sandwich, the man behind the counter had asked where his red-haired friend was.   
He often wondered if it was normal to miss a friend so much. It wasn’t like he was gone forever. He was going to come back, back to Alex, he knew he would, because Thomas said he would, and Thomas was a good man, a man who kept his promises.  
Thomas was not his father.  
He wrapped his coat around him, crossing his arms over his chest, holding his midsection tighter. He didn’t know why he kept doing this to himself, bringing back the memories he had struggled so hard to push down, the memories he swore he would lock up in a suitcase and bury the key under six feet of stone. It didn’t matter. The damage was done, and since the age of fourteen Alex had always kept his distance, guarded himself with books and work, avoided making friends. People, he knew, were fickle. They would pretend to be an anchor, leeching off trust, burying themselves under the skin, and one day they would just decide they didn’t need you anymore, or decide they had better things to do, and simply up and leave.  
Maybe that was why he was so attached to Thomas. He figured since they started out as enemies, they already knew the worst traits of the other. Thomas knew he was sensitive, occasionally whiny and probably too intense about keeping things clean for his own good, but he chose to put up with Alex anyway. And of course he couldn't forget how Thomas had grabbed his hand that last day, held onto it like it was a buoy and he was slipping under the waves, held it like it was a rare and beautiful object, and Alex felt like he was falling, but it was okay because Thomas would be there to catch him at the bottom.  
But that was three months ago. And Thomas’s world was no longer simply their crowded office, but refined dinner parties with rich, educated gentlemen who made Hamilton look like a short, sweaty schoolboy. He had seen Versailles, walked into rooms with walls plated in gold, talked with the king under crystal chandeliers. How could Alex, with his habit of stuttering over saying even the simplest phrase, ever compare?

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Thomas sat back in his chair, pulling back his shoulders to stretch out his back after hours of hunching over his work. He reached his arms back and yawned, a little too loudly, and was met with an annoyed stare from his office partner.  
God, he missed Alex.  
He tried to paint him the best picture of France in his letters, talking abut his dinner with the king or the beautiful paintings that decked the halls of the palace. Anything to stop him from breaking down and confessing how much he missed him.  
“You thinking about your boyfriend again?”  
Thomas snapped out of his trance.  
“What?”  
“Please,” retorted his office partner (Jean or Jacque, Thomas wasn’t sure. The only time they communicated was when Jean/Jacque handed some paper to him with a sneer.) “Remember that dinner with the cabinet? Literally every other word out of your mouth was ‘Mr. Hamilton.'”  
“So what? He’s interesting, his policies are…questionable, yes, but in the best intentions, and he’s a good conversationalist.” Unlike you snooty assholes.  
Jean/Jacque raised his eyebrow and stared intently at Thomas.  
“Besides, we’re just office partners. We edit each other’s work, discuss documents, that kind of stuff. Like you and me.” He wondered if the other man could see that sarcasm oozing out between his teeth.  
“And yet you don’t wax poetic about me in front of the entire French cabinet.”  
Thomas wondered if he would ever be able to hear another French accent again without cringing.  
“I wasn’t waxing poetic,” he retorted, trying to make the last two words sound as condescending as possible. Was he feeling a little guilty about sassing the very same people he had been sent to help? Maybe. Was he going to sit down and shut up and let this idiot think he was some pansy in love? Absolutely not. He was, in any case, totally, absolutely, utterly not attracted to Alex like that at all.   
“Did you hear yourself? I’m pretty sure you complemented, and I quote, his professional yet elegant signature.”  
Thomas cringed. He did remember saying that. But it was true: Alex’s signature was pretty, all loopy and underlined with a scroll. Thomas had been mesmerized by how he had managed to achieve the same, perfect signature every time. Sometimes without even looking.  
“What can I say? 99% of my day is spent signing my signature, asking for signatures, or looking at signatures. Can you blame me for noticing an especially nice one?”  
Jean/Jacque groaned. “Please stop talking.”  
“Pleasure.”  
The other man looked back at the paper on his desk with a small, victorious smile. Thomas was pretty sure he head him whisper something under his breath.  
“And I’m not his boyfriend!”


	6. Chapter 6

He had almost given up.  
The last day of the fourth month, the day Thomas was supposed to come home, he had stayed up all night in the office, with only the flickering light of the candles for company, staring at the door. He knew it was ridiculous to expect him to come home the exact day, but he had said four months, and Alex knew Thomas wouldn't lie to him because Thomas never lied, sure, maybe he was a bit aggressive at times and didn't have as big of a work ethic as people thought, but he was honest down to the bone.  
The next week he had stayed at the office until 12 each night, jumping at the smallest sound, willing his eyes to stay open, staring at the door.  
The second week, he had fallen asleep.  
That was when he stopped trying.  
No more being distracted by moving shadows in the hall while he was trying to proofread letters, no more staying up late, no more closing his eyes tight, wishing, wishing…  
The letters from France had stopped coming, the dust regained its place on Thomas’s desk, and sometimes Alex was left rubbing his forehead and wondering if a Thomas Jefferson had actually existed or if he was just some sweet figment of his imagination.  
He was reading the same article for the fourth time (he couldn’t focus on anything anymore lately, but it didn't matter anyway) when he heard footsteps coming to his office, growing louder and louder, jabbing the ground with each step, coming towards his office. He bit down on his bottom lip and stared down at his desk, trying to block out the noise that beat around in his head like a heartbeat, not daring to hope and have it turn out to be another senator or the president, like it had been so many times that pas tmonth.  
And then the footsteps stopped, and he could sense it was him even before he looked up into those blue, blue eyes.  
And for the first time in 4 months, that crooked, glowing smile wasn’t just a memory anymore.  
He didn’t even know how, but he was out of his chair, taking steps towards Thomas, in a trance, because he didn’t dare to speak or touch for fear that he would disappear, and all he wanted to do was commit that face, that ginger hair, to memory.  
“Hey,” Thomas whispered, his voice soft and tender, like it was breaking out of a cocoon, and how had Alex never noticed how soft his lips were.  
Say something, you idiot but his brain wasn’t working, he couldn’t think, all he could do was stay rooted to the ground and try to drink as much of the other man in.  
And he didn’t remember how but suddenly he lurched forward and grabbed Thomas’s shirt and pulled him closer, then wrapped his hands around Thomas’s neck and buried his face into his shoulder, felt Thomas’s warm, firm hands on his back, pushing him closer, molding their bodies together. And he didn't remember starting to sob but something warm and wet was trickling down his cheek and soaking into Thomas’s blue jacket (the one that Alex had secretly tried on one day when Thomas had left to use the restroom to see if it looked as good on him as it did on the other man (it didn’t)), and then he felt Thomas’s lips in his hair, murmuring “I’m here, I’m back, I’m not leaving, it’s okay” and he was pretty sure he’d wake up soon clutching his pillow, alone and in the dark, and he couldn't stand going back to boring reality without looking at Thomas’s face at least once more, so he forced himself to disentangle himself from the other man’s arms even though what he really wanted to do was push them as close together as possible.   
“Hey,” he whispered back, trying not to be overtly creepy about staring into Thomas’s eyes and failing miserably.  
“Did you miss me?” Thomas asked, his mouth curling into that grin that made Alex want to simultaneously hit him and do things to him.  
“You ass,” Hamilton chuckled, smiling in return. He felt his cheeks heat up and broke the gaze, tucking his head against Jefferson’s chest. “So, so much.”  
“God, me too,” Thomas crooned above his head, the breeze from his words tickling Alex’s scalp. “Like you wouldn’t believe, Alex, the number of times I would forget where I was and turn to tell you something, and then have to talk to those snooty bureaucrats, you have no idea…”  
Alex pulled back to smile at him, and then reached up on his tiptoes to brush aside a stray hair that had shaken loose from his ponytail.  
“I forgot how tall you are.”  
“And I how short you are. Dwarf,” Thomas teased, and Alex giggled.  
They stood like that for moments, pressed against each other, grins plastered on their faces.   
“I have to go see the president.”  
Alex had, at that moment, been fascinated with the way Thomas’s collarbones were peeking out of his crisp white shirt, jutting out against freckled, pale skin.  
“Hmm?”  
“Alex, I have to leave for a moment to inform Washington of my arrival. But I’ll be right back, okay?”  
“Okay,” he agreed, Thomas’s words washing over him. He was too busy trying to convince himself that he didn't want to reach out and run his fingers over the other man’s collarbones, because that would be weird, even if he was insanely curious if they were as smooth as they looked.  
But then he felt Thomas pull away and the cool air of the room fill the space his body left. He made a disgruntled sound.  
“I’ll be right back,”Thomas repeated, his hand brushing against Alex’s and lingering a little too long to be unintentional.   
And then he was out the door, leaving Alex smiling and his hand tingling.


End file.
